


i write when it rains at night

by isignedupforthis



Category: Lovely Little Losers, The March Family Letters (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 22:06:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5801989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isignedupforthis/pseuds/isignedupforthis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of various tumblr fic/writing prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. j: a semi-autobiographic series of events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something was missing from the ending. No matter how many revisions, no matter how many edits, how many critiques and ideas offered to her by Costa (the man had a lot of opinions about including a graveyard scene) she could not come up with a proper way to end her show. And so, here she was, at 12:15 the night before the play was due to the uni's theatre department, trying to finish what she had started. Jaquie had tried everything, contacted everyone that she could think of who could help her.
> 
> She heard a knock at her bedroom door. Before Jaquie could even stand up from her spot across the room at her desk, the entrance slammed open.
> 
> Except well, one person.

Jaquie glared at the blank document, glowing brightly on the laptop screen before her. Well, it wasn't entirely blank; there were quite a few words typed…5,956 to be exact. Her final draft of her first ever student play, to be written by her, to be directed by her, and to be starring…only her. A one woman show, if you will.

But something was missing from the ending. No matter how many revisions, no matter how many edits, how many critiques and ideas offered to her by Costa (the man had a  _lot of opinions about including a graveyard scene_ ) she could not come up with a proper way to end her show.  And so, here she was, at 12:15 the night before the play was due to the uni's theatre department, trying to finish what she had started. Jaquie had tried everything, contacted everyone that she could think of who could help her.

She heard a knock at her bedroom door. Before Jaquie could even stand up from her spot across the room at her desk, the entrance slammed open.

Except well, one person.

"Paige and Chelsey told me everything," The dark haired girl strutted into the room, without giving Jaquie so much as a chance to say  _Why yes, Meg Winter, you can come into my home at this late hour_ , or even think  _Which of my idiot flatmates let you in here?_  "I may not have done the whole  _theatre thing_  since, like, year 11, but I know  _plenty_ about drama." She plopped herself on top of Jaquie's tabletop, leaning over her and her cup of freshly brewed coffee. Jaquie could catch the faint scent of Meg's shampoo as she pushed the girl's hair out of her face.

"I'm at the ending already," Jaquie explained, not even bothering to kick Meg out of her room, or tell her to get off of her desk and to take a proper seat next to her. "Everything I've tried so far isn't working."

Meg scrolled through the stage play, her blue-gray eyes skimming through line after line, scene after scene. Jaquie observed her, tried to see what her reaction was, what she was thinking. Mostly, she watched her eyes. She really did have beautiful eyes…the kind of eyes that could inspire a soliloquy or two…

"So this is a one-woman show?" Meg asked, breaking Jaquie's daydreaming (night dreaming? It was so late.)

"Yes."

"It needs a second person."

"I'm sorry, what?" Jaquie furrowed her brow, feeling her head retract in confusion. "If you think that I'm going to rewrite this entire play to accommodate  _two people-_ "

"Not the whole play, just the ending." Meg pointed to the screen. "This... Peggy character? That J keeps mentioning? She should show up at the end. And they should…I don't know…do something. Something fulfilling for the audience. Something satisfying…something  _romantic._ "

Jaquie felt her breath catch. "What makes you think that the relationship between Peggy and J is romantic?"

"I don't know, the way that she keeps…mentioning her at every turn? Like, there's no reason for her to be this fixated on this new girl that has moved to her neighborhood unless she…I don't know… _like her._ " Meg scrolled through the word document again, landing on the first page again.  _J: A Semi-Autobiographic Series of Events_. "Wait a second, Jaq-"

"--What do you mean by romantic?" Jaquie interrupted her, shutting computer closed. "Like, holding hands romantic? Or something more?"

Meg was still looking at the closed laptop, her eyelids low. As she flicked her gaze back to Jaquie, she swallowed, then shook her head. "No, more than that." Meg walked towards the door. Jaquie was afraid that she was on her way out, when she turned around. "I think that Peggy should come from the back of the audience and walk towards J." She presses her palm against Jaquie's cheek, and focused her eyes on hers. Jaquie didn't look away, even though  _good God, those eyes are intense_. "I think that they should stand there, and just…take each other in, for a minute. Really look  _into_ each other. See how they're so different, but so similar. Really get the audience feeling it, too." She lowered her eyes towards Jaquie's pressed lips, and leaned forward." And then, just as they're about to kiss…" She backed away, taking her hand away. "Curtain."

Jaquie didn’t realize that she was holding her breath until Meg was looking at her, expecting a response. She cleared her throat. “Um, _wow._ That is…definitely…”

“What you’re going to end the play with.” Meg turned around and began to really leave, when she spun around again, pointing towards Jaquie. “And you’re going to cast me as Peggy. And we’re going to go over that ending. Over coffee. Tomorrow, right?”

Jaquie nodded, quite furiously. “Yes.”

Meg smiled, crinkling those bright eyes. Those eyes would be the death of Jaquie. “Great, it’s a date.” She closed the space between the two of them.


	2. she never fixes this, but at least she tries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you’re going to tell me that this is going to be okay,” Meg warned, feeling Joan’s breath warm on her neck and trying not to feel her stomach flip, as she hadn’t felt it done since it had dropped when she first heard about Beth. “Please, don’t. Nothing you can possibly say is going to make this better.”
> 
> “I wasn’t going to,” Joan whispered. “I was going to tell you that your shoes are on the wrong feet.”

When there was nothing else for Meg March to do, she liked to count. It took time, it took patience, it took her mind off of her inability to do anything in any given situation. Meg March had been doing a lot of counting in the past few months. She especially did so in hospital waiting rooms.

Five nurses have passed them. Sixteen waiting chairs are occupied. Eight magazines scattered on the rack. And one Joan Brooks, sitting in the pleather seat besides her, stroking her thumb.

This is the first time Meg has been to the hospital since Beth’s diagnosis. And the fact that Joan is with her (Despite the fact that they’ve been together for only what? A _week?)_ makes the proccess no less difficult, but possibly more manageable. Meg could say that for a majority of situations involving Joan; not any easier, but less…impossible.

Joan stopped stroking her hand and laced their fingers together. She leaned in to Meg, furrowing her head into the crevice between Meg’s neck and shoulder.

“If you’re going to tell me that this is going to be okay,” Meg warned, feeling Joan’s breath warm on her neck and trying not to feel her stomach flip, as she hadn’t felt it done since it had dropped when she first heard about Beth. “Please, don’t. Nothing you can possibly say is going to make this better.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Joan whispered. “I was going to tell you that your shoes are on the wrong feet.”

“ _What?_ Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I didn’t notice until now.”

“I can’t believe this.”  Meg broke apart from Joan and fixed her shoes. One left shoe, and one right shoe. When she readjusted herself in her chair, Joan had a sad but sweet smile.

“Well, just think, things can only get better from here.” Joan said.

“And what makes you say that?”

“Well, at least now whatever level of hell you and your sisters have to go through now…at least you have your shoes on the right feet,” Joan pressed a kiss to Meg’s temple.

If there’s one thing that Meg March can count on, besides her (one, two _, three)_ sisters, it’s Joan Brooks.


End file.
